


Hoisted High

by TheBigBadWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1492534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBigBadWolf/pseuds/TheBigBadWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our beloved Holmes and Watson as pirates on the high seas!! I bring to you a reworking of the BBC series 'Sherlock'!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drenched In Scarlett

**Author's Note:**

> I take heavily from the televisions series' plot and therefore I have to to state that I do not own any of this and this is all simply a reworking of the show.

“Captain!” First mate Stamford called from the quarter deck. “Captain, land ho!” He turned around and leaned over the banister, yelling down to main deck. “Ready the ship for port boys and quick or I’ll have the starting rope on ya’!”

The Captain himself stood before the helm, proud and unyielding. “Stamford!” The first mate’s head swiveled instantly at the calling of his name and stood to attention.

“Aye Captain?”

“Ready the cargo; I want it off the ship and into the market the minute we make port! Understood?” The Captain righted his hat, squared his shoulders, and turned to walk into his cabin.

“Aye Captain!” With that Stamford took off barking more orders and delegating the duties, he was the finest first mate the seven seas had ever seen.

The Captain stood behind his closed door and let out a breath he had been holding in, snatching the hat from his head he cast it aside onto the floor. He hated making port; in fact he hated being on land all together. He could remember that ever since childhood the sea had called him. Had whispered his name and brought him dreams of horizon. He had many loves in his lifetime but the sea would always call him back and he would always comply. His ship and the open waters were his home, anything else would just not do.

With the ship in port and the cargo being hauled off to sell in market the Captain and his first mate made their way off the ship and through the expanse of the docks only to be stopped by what looked to be a very well armed guard.

“Sorry Captain. New laws have been passed here; all ships must be registered by their captains and the Queen’s docking tax must be paid.” The guard looked past them and kept his voice monotone; his words a clear recitation that hadn’t deviated a word since the day they were written. The Captain raised an eyebrow in response but nodded in compliance. First Mate Stamford dug out his coin purse and paid the man. “I’ll need the captain’s name and the name of the ship as well to add to the register.” Stamford stepped forward and was about to speak when the Captain reached out and held him back.

“Captain John Hamish Watson and she’s called ‘Harriet’.”

>< >< >< >< >< ><

“Captain we’re docking now.” A young boy poked his head into the captain’s quarters.

“I don’t care.” The Captain pulled a gun from his belt and put a whole in the wall just two feet from the boy’s head making him squeak and duck.

“Ca...c…captain--” He was used to the Captain’s behavior by now but it didn't make the man any less frightening.

“I don’t care Henry! Do what you want!” Another shot rang out. This time the bullet was embedded in the map that hung on the wall off to the right. Henry knowing better quickly shut the door and skittered out to give the commands to dock. Poor Henry dashed about and soon met with the armed guard to register.

“Captain’s name, ship name, and 3 silver.” Handing the coins over the boy cringed as he gave the needed information.

“Captain Sherlock Holmes of the ‘Deux Cent Vingt Un.”

“Pirates.” The man hissed and Henry winced and took a step back, right into a waiting body.

“Aye. Pirates.” Captain Holmes stood strong and arrogantly proud.

“You’re kind aren't welcome here.”

“And we’re here all the same.” Sherlock kept his voice low and snarled, daring the guard to challenge him. The guard’s hand shot to his sword but before he could draw Holmes had produced a scrap of parchment and held it out to the man. The guard cautiously took it and read over it.

“A decree with the seal of the Queen.” He turned to parchment over looking for signs of forgery.

“I’ve been summoned.” Sherlock hissed as if the words were poison on his tongue. The guard passed the parchment back and scowled, then stalked off without another word.

>< >< >< >< >< ><

It had gotten late and the pub was full of rowdy ship-men all looking to fight out their frustration. As brawls began and ended and drinks were being passed about Captain John Watson sat back and watched the night unfold. He swayed a bit in his seat; if anyone were to simply glance at him they would only think him to be another drunken sailor, Captain Sherlock Holmes knew better.

Sherlock had spent but ten minutes in the pub and already knew everything there was to know. The crew in the corner with the odd faraway looking captain were traders, there was a pack of bandits lurking in the shadows just left of the bar, and commonplace ship-men littering the rest of the room. ‘Hateful’ Sherlock thought to himself, ‘absolutely hateful’. However the swaying captain was a bit more interesting than the rest of the pub’s drunken population.

John looked down into his pint and scowled, giving up he closed his eyes. The sea was calling him, past the drunken shouting and sounds of breaking furniture he could hear the waves crash against his dear ‘Harriet’, he could hear the rhythm resonate inside of him. His revere was quickly broken however by one of his crewmen crashing down on the table in front him, quick to respond he was out of his seat pistol drawn, and steadily trained on the man standing above his crewman.

“Easy there mate, we was only havin’ a scuffle.” The man was rough looking and had a smug grin running across his face. The crewman struggled his way onto his feet and fell in behind the others that had loyally gathered around their captain. When John said the nothing the man scowled. “Too good to talk to any of us then?” At this his own band of men and crawled from the shadows.

“Bandits.” John muttered under his breath, his had stayed steady and he was bracing himself for an all out brawl.

“Yeah.” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “You lot are traders, aren’t ya’?”

“What of it?” Watson kept his voice low and guarded.

“Must come across some interesting treasures in your sailings?” The number of bandit scum crawling out from the shadows had almost doubled.

Sherlock had been watching from his corner of the pub from the moment the odd man had closed his eyes. Now he was fully intrigued, he stood and gracefully shifted his way over to the scene only hanging back to see how things would progress.

“Piss off.” John’s once guarded voice had now become a snarl.

“No need to be rude.” The shady man simply chuckled; John noticed how his cronies had drawn their weapons and were all laughing too. The head of the bandits took a step forward and a bullet had immediately brushed pass his knee cap. Captain Watson’s men drew their arms the very second their leader had squeezed his trigger.

“I suggest you return from where you came or you’ll be carrying your dead away with you when I send you running.” Just because Watson’s men were traders did not mean they didn’t know how to defend themselves. The leader of the bandits took a moment and surveyed the scene of thirty or so pistols trained on him and his men; scowling he and his crew slunk back into the shadows they came from. Captain Holmes froze; it had been decades since anyone had piqued his curiosity as much as that man had. He withdrew into the shadows as well and set about devising a plan. Captain Watson rallied his men and ordered them back onto the ship, giving them explicit instructions on the duties they had to attend to.

><><><><><><><><><><><

Once his men set about their tasks John put his first mate in charge and retired for the night. Watson undressed and laid out across his bed doing his best to concentrate on the crashing waves. Doing so always helped ease in the pain in his shoulder. He had been shot years ago during a war between nations, yet another reason to hate being on land. People always thought it belonged to them and would fight and die for it. ‘Fools’ He thought to himself. He swore to himself after that, that he would do what he had always wanted and set out to sail the seven seas. John threw his head back and shook the flashbacks from his mind, he tried to go back to concentrating on the sound of the waves but he had an odd feeling, an itching at the back of his neck. For the rest of the night he fought the discomfort back and tried to get some rest.

Sherlock stood on the balcony and did what he does best; he observed. Pulling away from the window he crouched down and set about organizing his thoughts. The man was beloved as a captain, he was injured in a war, and he had a fondness for his ship….no….a fondness for the sea. John yes! John was what his first mate had called him. Captain John. Dull name, interesting man. His men were loyal as they had shown in the pub such would prove his worth as a ship’s captain. Sherlock’s thoughts trailed off but he kept coming back to same conclusion, he had to have that man in his company.

><><><><><><><><><

John Watson woke the next morning just before dawn and set out with Stamford to market; he wanted all of his cargo off the ship and sold or traded as soon as possible. Captain Watson set his first mate on his way and then made his own way around the market, making sure to touch base with some old contacts of his.

“Captain John Watson!” A portly man who was much to joyous for John’s tastes had approached him and had his hand in an iron grip shaking like one would shake a stick at a stray dog. When he man let go John backed up a bit and took the sight of the man in. A dark ginger head of hair that seemed to stem down into quite the beard, he knew that ginger hair. It was none other than James Phillimore. John flashed a smile and chuckled a bit.

“And what is scum like you doing trotting about the trader’s market?” Watson tutted and gave the man a challenging look.

“Easy old friend, I’ve changed professions!” James stroked at his beard and shot the look right back at Captain Watson.

“Have you now? Cut-purse turned trader then?”

“Oi, I’ve changed my ways.” James nodded and let a wicked smile cross his face. “Though I see you haven’t.” Watson let the laughter roar through him, James always tried to pickpocket John, though Watson always had the upper hand.

“And your kind are why I don’t carry anything of value on me.” John clapped his hand on James’ shoulder and they both let the laughter carry them into lighter conversation. John spoke of the goings on in the countries over and James spoke of goings on in the Queen’s land.

“Dreadful business really, the man has killed three times now.” James shook his head and made a huffing noise. “Things have been getting dangerous lately.” Watson just hummed in agreement though he didn’t know why. He was about to respond when he spotted Stamford heading for him.

“Captain! Captain, I’ve found someone interested in a trade.” Stamford greeted James and Watson said his goodbyes and until next times before he took off with his first mate. Mike led his captain through the town until he had stopped at a rather quiet inn; Watson curled his fingers around the pistol on his hip and followed his first mate through the door.

“Good afternoon.” A man stood and Captain Watson took in every bit of him. Dark hair and piercing eyes, though he was dressed in modest clothes, a simple pair of pants, white tunic shirt, and brown vest, John knew better.

“Pirate.” Watson’s hand tightened around his pistol and Stamford just looked between the two but said nothing.

“You’re sharp.” Captain Holmes traded his perfect posture for a more relaxed stance. He eyed up the man though there was no real need.

“What is that you want?” John tensed when Sherlock relaxed a bit more.

“You.” His voice held all the smugness his face did, John thought to himself that this was a man who always got what he wanted.

“Come Stamford.” John turned away but just as swiftly Sherlock reached out and grabbed him. Within seconds John had his pistol against Sherlock’s forehead and Sherlock had a dagger against John’s neck. Sherlock however withdrew the dagger immediately.

“Natural reaction, ignore it.” He shook his head and his expression returned to the playful smugness of before.

“I’ve a pistol to your head, I will shoot you.” Watson let a growl settle in his throat.

“No you won’t.” Sherlock’s voice had gone quiet.

“What makes you think I won’t?”

“Your hand has gone still.” Sherlock reached up and brushed a finger along John’s hand and it was just as he thought, the man hadn’t even started. “You’re calm and confident. In control. You’ve no need to shoot me.”

“You know nothing of me or what I might do.” John’s eyes hardened but Sherlock’s brightened.

“You were a doctor as well as a soldier, you were injured in war. Shot in the shoulder. You love the sea, being on a ship, and you’re an excellent captain by the standard of your men. You’ve a dull ache that bothers you while you’re on land but once out on open waters I assume it goes away. I’ve believe those of the medical community would label such as psychosomatic. You sway a bit when you need to calm down; an unconscious reaction to your own discomfort.” Sherlock took a moment to breathe. “Shall I continue?” John tried to shake the fog from his mind but had no luck. During Sherlock’s deductions John had slowly lowered his pistol and had decided to just give up all together. He returned the weapon to his belt and took a few steps back and took in a breath himself.

“Who….” John fought for control within his own mind. “Who are you exactly?”

“Captain Sherlock Holmes.” He righted himself and stood a little straighter with pride.

“Right.” John nodded and looked about, poor Stamford had found a corner to sit in and was looking hopefully lost. “And…and what do you want?”

“You.” Sherlock couldn’t have sounded anymore innocent.

“I don’t think I follow.” John shook his head looked down, he was pretty sure what he thought the man had meant wasn’t actually what he had meant; and from that everything in his mind had just spiraled out of control.

“Quiet!” Sherlock snapped and John jumped. “Stop thinking, it’s annoying.” Captain Holmes huffed but willed himself to calm down. “I’m in need of an assistant and everybody else is frightfully dull and unintelligent. You’ve proven yourself to be rather interesting and I find you to be a suitable choice.”

“You do that a lot, don’t you?” John this time had been able to keep up.

“Do what?” Sherlock teetered a bit out of confusion.

“Go off on little rants like that?”

“I…” Sherlock smiled but it was gone as fast as it came. “I do.” Sherlock hummed but was quick to change the subject. “It’s settled!”

“What?”

“Tomorrow we will start.” Sherlock nodded and swept past John to leave.

“Start what?”

“Oh don’t be thick Captain. The murders! The murders John!” Again he closed the space between them. “You’ve seen quite a bit with being in a war, haven’t you?” He paused but continued before John could answer. “Would you like to see more? It could be dangerous.”

John took a moment to think; he left the war, he left the excitement, he left everything interesting behind for the calm of the sea. He hated being on land and loved being on the sea, but the thought of adventure had tugged at every strand of his consciousness. The decision really couldn’t have been easier, although he was bit concerned that it had been an easy choice.

“Yes.” Captain Watson nodded and let a small smile fall across his face.

“Excellent!” And with that Sherlock spun much too gracefully and took off leaving John absolutely stunned. Stamford said nothing and only obeyed the orders his Captain left him with the next morning.

>< >< >< >< >< ><

Captain Watson was waiting in the trader’s marketplace when a hand had gently landed on his shoulder. John spun and there was a clang of metal as his and Captain Holmes’ swords clashed. The entire marketplace froze and watched on. Sherlock moved in close and flashed a breathtaking smile; John who was absolutely flustered withdrew immediately.

“Always on guard, excellent reaction; you’ll do rather nicely.” Sherlock as if proud of his new companion returned his own sword to its sheath and took off. “Come on John!”

“What exactly are we doing?” John tried to make sense of things in his own mind but quickly gave up. He couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy at the idea of complete uncertainty.

“You’ll need a change of clothes.” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. John however took in the man before him. He certainly didn’t look like nor act like a pirate; ‘In fact’ John thought to himself ‘he looked rather distinguished’. John hummed at the sight and Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but decided to put that bit aside for now. Watson allowed the deranged man to drag him about and even, reluctantly, allowed him to take his clothes in exchange for nicer ones. However he had made the man swear to return them. John couldn’t help but think that if his men had ever seen him dressed as he was that he would never stand at the helm of a ship again.

It wasn’t until Watson had found himself standing before a rather posh house that he began to question everything again. However, before he could voice his concerns he was dragged through the door and introduced to the company waiting behind it.

“Gregory Lestrade this is John Watson. John Watson, Gregory Lestrade.” Sherlock scowled as if the very idea of being proper hurt him, in his annoyance he let his tongue slip. “He’s the Queen’s dog.”

“Oi! Watch it; I could hang you for piracy!” Greg scowled back. John’s eyes widened and he looked between the men trying to get a grasp on the situation.

“You couldn’t get me if you tried.” John had a feeling that Sherlock had actually meant that. “And you need me.” Greg shot daggers at Sherlock with his eyes but was quick to give up.

“God help me I do.” He rubbed the bridge between his eyes. “And you are?” Before Watson could answer Sherlock jumped in.

“I’ve already told you! Are you really that dim?”

“Quiet Holmes or I’ll get your brother on this.” Greg’s threat had done the job, Sherlock quickly shut his mouth.

“Captain John Watson.” John held his hand out but was snubbed.

“Certainly not a pirate, that much is clear.” He looked John up and down.

“Trader.” John supplied an answer to the question that wasn’t asked.

“And why are you here?” John’s only response was to look towards Sherlock. Greg nodded then released a breath he had been holding in. “Fine, go.” He waved the two captains towards the steps.

When they reached the top landing and entered the main room, John understood. Without a moment of hesitation Sherlock began circling the body that lay in the center of the room. She wore a scarlet gown with rubies adorning her wrists and neck; even her lips were a deep red. Watson watched as the pirate captain circled the body like a vulture; he watched and thought of how the man would look while sailing his ship. He wondered what Sherlock would look like in a fight, if the man would flash that vicious smile as he cut down his enemies, if he moved with as much grace as he did now. John didn’t know how long it had been but when those icy eyes pierced him he jumped back into reality.

“Your opinion?” Captain Holmes found that far away look again and searched his new companion for answers.

“Opinion?” Watson shook his mind clear.

“The woman, John.” Sherlock hadn’t missed the look on his new companion’s face. “Your opinion on the woman. You were a doctor after all.” He motioned towards the body. Watson shot a skeptical look towards Holmes but when the pirate gave no response he too decided to examine the body.

“She choked on something, no scent of alcohol……” He ran through a list of possibilities. “So maybe poison?” Captain Watson looked up and searched for something, maybe it was approval he wasn’t sure. Sherlock only hummed.

“Out with it Holmes!” Lestrade barked from the corner of the room he had sunken into. “I didn’t ask you here to play games. We’ve got a serial killer on the loose and their victims all end up like this. I need answers, now.”

Sherlock growled but moved forward. “She is a serial adulterer, the signs are apparent in the wedding ring on her finger; rough and scratched on the outside but clean and polished on the inside. The only care it receives is the polishing it gets when she works it off her finger. Her dress is a bit wet so she was out in the rain and yes John she was poisoned. That much should be apparent in the handkerchief.”

“Sorry, handkerchief?” Lestrade held a hand up to stop the man’s rant.

“Yes, her handkerchief. Where is it? What have you done with it?” He looked around as if hoping to find it.

“There was none.” This voice had come from a man standing just outside the door. The voice had brought up a snarl in Sherlock Holmes.

“Anderson.” The name was more of a growl than an acknowledgement. “Still working with the scum of the Queen’s land then Gregory?”

“Alright boys easy. Anderson, leave.” Lestrade was fast to control the situation. “Sherlock, what is this handkerchief you’re talking about?” Sherlock examined Lestrade, the man was clueless. It wasn’t long until Sherlock himself understood.

“Oh.” A sinister smile had crossed the pirate’s lips. “This is good. This is absolutely brilliant!” Holmes bolted out and bounded down the stairs with excitement.

“Oi! Hey, get back here! What’s going on?” Lestrade followed with the confused John Watson in tow, still desperately trying to put all the pieces together.

“A scarlet handkerchief Lestrade!” He clapped his hands, laughed, and busted through the front door and out into the city.

“You still here then?” Lestrade shot a quick glance in John’s direction.

“Just leaving.” And with that he set off too. When he made it outside the house he searched for the deranged pirate but couldn’t find him, instead an entirely different figure made their presence known.

“Captain John Hamish Watson I presume.” The man stood tall and was certainly intimidating. Clearly he was well off; everything about him screamed upper class.

“Who is it that is asking?” Watson’s hand shot to his side looking for his pistol.

“Easy Captain, I only wish to speak with you.” The man offered a smile but it was nothing sincere.

“You still haven’t told me who you are.” John kept himself guarded, but the man only ignored him.

“You’ve taken up company with Sherlock Holmes.” Watson let his irritation show with a small scowl. “It’s not often he finds himself with company. You must be an interesting man Captain.”

“Brother dear. Why are you here?” A familiar snarl sounded from behind John.

“Simply introducing myself to your companion, brother mine.” This time his smile was more of a challenging grin.

“Come Captain Watson. We’ve a job to do.” Sherlock let his hand hover over John’s arm. “Goodbye Mycroft.”

Mycroft Holmes extended a hand to Captain Watson who shook it reluctantly. “Until next we meet Captain.” And with that the Holmes brother turned on his heel and strolled off.

“Who was that Sherlock?” Watson looked between the newly empty space and the pirate Captain that stood next to him.

“Do you not pay attention?” Sherlock spinning on his heel just as his brother had took off in the opposite direction. “He’s my older brother. Hateful creature that he is, is always appearing where he is least wanted.” Watson nodded and trailed after the man.

“He’s rather—” John stopped short.

“Posh? Yes, he his.”

“Well off. I was going to say well off. Why would you…..what I mean is if he is…..” Again words failed the poor captain.

“Why am I a pirate and he a wealthy politician?” When John looked down in embarrassment Sherlock continued. “Because I wish to be.”

“Ah.” John let the subject go, Sherlock’s irritation was apparent, that and he remembered something important. “What was that about a scarlet handkerchief?”

“Shall we find ourselves something for dinner?” Sherlock stopped mid step and turned to face John who had nearly walked right into him. Completely stunned but now used to the man’s erratic behavior he nodded, figuring he would get an answer later.

>< >< >< >< >< ><

Captain John Watson and Captain Sherlock Holmes sat across one another in a tavern. John was pushing his food around as he listened to Sherlock carry him through the facts.

“We’ve a string of murders all with the same outcome; the victims lying face down having chocked and died due to being poisoned. Cleary it was self administered.”

“Self administered? How did you come to that?” John winced at the look Sherlock shot him.

“Honestly John.” Sherlock reached into a pocket and produced a scarlet handkerchief that was spotted with blood.

“That! Where did you find that?”

“Our victim had planted it on him. She knew she was going to her death so she left it on his person, when he found it he had to get rid of it immediately. A man carrying around a woman’s scarlet handkerchief, a bit suspicious don’t you think?” Sherlock took a breath and continued. “Also none of the victims displayed defensive wounds; they willingly went with their killer. The poison had to have been self administered; there was no bruising around the neck or mouth to suggest the killer forcing it down their throats.” A gentle hand reached across the table and long fingers brushed across John’s chin and throat then swiftly retreated back. “Furthermore with his last victim I’ve noticed something. Her clothes were wet meaning she was out in the rain the night she died; Lestrade had informed me that she was last seen by her husband during a dinner party. The husband was clearly irate at catching his wife being unfaithful, though he is certainly not the killer.”

“Cheating wife, angry husband, self administered poison starting to sound like a suicide. Not a murder.” John looked down at the pale hands resting on table, since when had they become so captivating?

“That dear Watson, is the point.”

“Point?” John refocused on Sherlock’s words but was lost again; he realized that that was rapidly becoming normal.

“All of the victims had some kind of predicament within their own lives, all had willingly gone with their killer, and all had willingly taken the poison.”

“So, this killer he...he uses each person’s problems against them? He makes them want to kill themselves?” The two men had begun to lean into one another.

“Yes. The real question however is what does he say exactly to produce such a reaction?” Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table.

“Brilliant.”

“What?” Sherlock started a bit.

“Absolutely brilliant. I don’t think anyone else could come up with such answers!”

“I don’t come up with them John. I simply put all the facts together to create a single picture.”

“Yeah…well you’re still brilliant.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock beamed, not many would call him brilliant.

“There is still one problem though.” John began to drum his fingers on the table. “How do we find and catch him?”

>< >< >< >< >< ><

John stumbled under the full weight of Sherlock and let out a few obscenities when a shot of pain ran through his bad shoulder. Just minutes before the pirate had ordered a pint then dumped it on himself; he instructed Watson to help him out of the tavern and leave him on the road. John of course protested at the man using himself as bait but was quick to lose when pierced with Sherlock’s brilliant eyes. John realized that Sherlock was rapidly becoming a weakness within him.

Watson leaned down to Sherlock’s ear and sharply whispered. “This had better work.” The only response he received was a faked drunken giggle. John took it as cue to begin his own show. He cast the man down and shouted. “Off with you! You drunken fool!” He stormed off only to slip into an alleyway that would allow him a good view of Sherlock and any passer bys. He watched as the Captain stumbled about a bit then fell against a brick wall, groaning in some kind of fake agony. Sherlock had been right, it didn’t take long. A man uncurled from the shadows and bent down to become face level with Holmes.

“You need a bit of help mate?” He was an older gentlemen though very average looking, John imagined that if there had been any witnesses they would never have been able to pick the man out of a crowd; he had a rather generic type of face. Sherlock babbled something incoherent then attempted to stand only to stumble into the man and use him as support. And like that the man carried Sherlock away, all the while talking to him in hushed tones. Captain Watson kept tail on them for a few blocks but when he lost them he became worried. Thankfully Sherlock had returned his pistol and sword to him earlier, John took off into the night and searched for any sign of his new companion.

The man pushed Sherlock through a pair of doors and against the wall in a hallway. “Come now Captain Holmes, I know better than that.” Sherlock immediately straightened and dropped the drunken act.

“You know me?”

“Who doesn’t? The Great Pirate Captain Sherlock Holmes; a storm coming forth.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You’ve caught the attention of some very dangerous people Captain.”

“Have I now? And who might these dangerous people be?”

“Oh I can’t tell you that Captain Holmes.” His voice was mocking. A moment passed between them before he continued again. “How about we play a game?”A wicked grin crossed his face; Sherlock marked it as over confidence.

“And what kind of game might you have in mind?” He snarled but kept his stance steady and still.

“It’s easy.” The man drew a pair of small, glass, corked bottles from his jacket pocket. “We each pick a bottle, take our medicine, and see who…..wins.” Holmes took the bottles and twisted them around in his hands looking for any differences in the contents, not finding anything he narrowed his eyes and scanned over the man top to bottom.

“You’re alone; you’ve children though you’re separated from them meaning separated from the wife as well. She took the children didn’t she? Your clothes are old and worn but still taken care of to a point, you care but have no real need—” Sherlock cut short and let a breathy ‘oh’ pass through him. “You’re dying. You’re dying and you have some slight against humanity so you go around poisoning people.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and spoke to himself. “How dull, they’re always dull in the end.”

“He said you’d be clever, said you would work it out.” The other man though scowling a bit kept his wicked smile. “But that’s not the point.” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow

“Oh isn’t it? Enlighten me then.”

“See he suggested all this, the poisoning. He said you’d play along so go on Captain Holmes which pill is it, which is the good pill, which is the bad pill?” He paused for a moment but then continued. “You’re clever you are, figuring out all those things about me so what about the pills, can you figure them out too?” The man’s mocking tone hung in the air and Sherlock only went back to examining them.

“I don’t have to play your game.” Growling he thrust both bottles back to the man.

“Come now Captain Holmes, your admirer would be disappointed if you didn’t play.”

“And who exactly is this admirer?” When the man didn’t answer Sherlock turned the subject back to the pills. “It’s a fifty/fifty chance. Nothing but luck, or in other cases bad luck; this game is pointless and I refuse to ‘play’.”

“It’s not luck Captain Holmes, its chess. I know how people think. I know how people think I think.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It’s not luck, its wit.” The growl still low in Sherlock’s throat grew louder as he snatched a bottle and uncorked it. “Oh, is that your choice then?” When Holmes didn’t answer he smiled and took the pill from the bottle left to him. “Shall we?” He raised the pill to his mouth and Sherlock did the same.

The door flew open barely missing the two of them and John had his sword drawn, the tip swiftly finding home against the man’s neck. “One move and I’ll have you bled dry.” The man ducked and drew his own sword clashing it against John’s; he was quick but Captain Watson was quicker. John blocked two swings then quickly jabbed his sword through the man’s chest. Sherlock taking in the entire scene was quick to act himself, he pushed Watson aside and took the hilt of the sword into his own hand, and he twisted it making the man cry out in anguish.

“Who is this ‘admirer’? Tell me! Who is he? Who put you up to this?” Sherlock was frantic.

“Sherlock--”

“Silence John!” He twisted the sword a bit more. “Tell me!” The man cried out, he wasn’t far from death. “Tell me!”

“Moriarty!” The man cried out before Sherlock could finish his own words, and as Holmes twisted the name around in his mind the man died with look of pain and horror on his face. Placing a hand on the man’s chest Sherlock pushed him from Captain Watson’s sword then made quick work of cleaning it off. Handing the sword back he turned swiftly on his heel and walked out the door.

“We’ve to find Lestrade.” He took off, leaving poor John to trail after him slightly horrified and confused.

>< >< >< >< >< ><

The two men stood at the docks watching the red of dawn spread across the ocean. “Are you going to tell me about what had happened?” Watson was the first to break the silence; he had been feeling more at ease since he was back in his own clothes.

“He was dying, felt slighted, and killed because of it.” Sherlock shifted beside him, but only slightly.

“And Moriarty? What is that?” John smiled to himself he knew Sherlock was hoping he had missed that.

Sherlock glanced sideways at John and allowed himself his own smile. “He’s a pirate. He sails under the blood flag….a rival if you will.”

“And he’s after you?”

“Seems so.”

“What does he want?”

“I haven’t a clue.” Sherlock turned and took in the full sight that was Captain John Hamish Watson. “Sail with me?”

“W...what?” John started a bit.

“It’s not the life of trading you desire but a life on the sea. Sail with me?” Sherlock couldn’t have looked anymore innocent in that one moment.

“Leave my ship? My crew? All to…..to just set off with you?” John stammered his way through the questions and Captain Holmes only rolled his eyes. John looked back out at the horizon, clearly thinking it over. He realized that during the entire time he and Sherlock were running about the Queen’s land he hadn’t once been distressed by thought of actually being on land. With Sherlock came a curiosity, John was quick to realize that in his company anything could happen. Watson enjoyed the idea of it all. He wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity. “Okay.”

It was Sherlock’s turn to start a bit. “You will?”

“Now you’re being the thick one.” Watson laughed. “Yes. I will. I’ve to settle a few things first.”

“Right. Good.” Sherlock gently laid a hand on John’s shoulder and smiled at him. “We set sail at dusk.” And with that he gracefully took off.

>< >< >< >< >< ><

John found himself standing in his cabin shoving what little possessions he had into a canvas bag when a knock came on the door. He called out for them to enter.

“Captain?” His first mate Stamford took in the sight and looked to his captain for an answer.

“Mike I’m leaving you ‘Harriet’, take good care of her.” John threw the bag over his shoulder and walked past his first mate only to stop beside him.“Captain Stamford. Has a ring to it don’t you think?” He patted his shoulder and said his goodbyes to the man. Once out on deck he finalized the announcement and left his beloved ship and its stunned crew.

On dock he found a certain pirate waiting for him with a grin that anyone else would be frightened of. John thought it only a brilliant prelude to the certainty of adventure.


	2. A Foolish Man's Gold

John Watson stood on the quarter deck; he was just left of the helm, his fingers itching to grab hold of it. Despite how little Captain Holmes would have cared, John still thought it in bad taste to stand at the helm of a ship that wasn’t his.

The sun had begun to set and Henry took such as a cue to ready the ship. He dashed about shouting commands and John watched in amazement as the pirate ship slowly came to life. The only piece missing was Deux Cent Vingt Un’s infamous captain; who, upon accompanying John onto his ship, quickly deserted his new companion for the confines of his own cabin. At the time Watson had froze, confused on what exactly it was he was supposed to be doing. Taking pity, Henry Knight introduced himself and assured John that Captain Holmes was regularly like that and that he was not to take offence. After a small chat with Knight, John had been content to simply stand on the quarter deck and observe. He felt and odd sense of relief in the fact that he no longer had to captain a ship or crew.

The sun had fully set as Deux Cent Vingt Un had eased its way out of port. Watson watched as the Queen’s Land became nothing more than a speck on the horizon. Fear, however, tore through him as he became aware of what it was he had done. Why, exactly, had he spontaneously chosen to run off with a pirate and leave his ship and crew behind?

“You will no doubt see her again.” John started a bit, but only a bit. The smooth baritone in his ear had a calming effect about it.

“I left her in good hands.” Watson’s voice was quiet.

“Mmm.” Captain Holmes moved to stand beside his new companion. “You named her Harriet. Why?” Before John could answer Sherlock continued. “Harriet was not your mother, if she was you would have had a much harder time deciding whether or not the leave her. Not a past lover, you don’t seem the sort for such sentiment, must be a relative though.” Holmes hummed to himself, clearly in thought.

"Sister."

“Sister! Of course!” The pirate captain drummed his fingers against the banister. “You left fairly easily but still feel remorse. So sentiment but not much. She must be…” Sherlock cut short as he looked down and observed John’s expression.

“Dead. Yes.” And with that the conversation between them had lapsed into silence. The two stood side by side and watched as the sea unfurled before them, both lost to thought. Despite the heaviness of the conversation both had found the other’s presence soothing. There was no strain between them, Sherlock marveled at the fact John had simply accepted him. Not many had and he always believed that few ever would. John Watson was a wonder to him. John having come full circle in his thoughts had broken the silence that had stretched between them.

“Where are we headed Captain?” His tone was relaxed and betrayed a hint of delight when he uttered Sherlock’s moniker. Holmes catalogued it away and kept his expression from betraying his own delight.

“When I wasn’t picking up after the Queen’s dogs I received a bit of interesting information. I intend to fully investigate the matter.” Sherlock raised his chin a bit and John smiled at the man’s smugness.

“Another murder then?” Watson turned around and leaned back against the banister, enjoying the vantage point.

“No. More of a personal interest I’m afraid.” 'This man is relaxed in my presence'. Sherlock’s mind was running circles. 'This is new. What is this?' When John’s only response was the quirk of his eyebrow, something else Sherlock catalogued away, the man continued. “Have you ever heard of L’Ange Exterminateur?” John shifted a bit; he couldn’t help but think that it was as if the man’s voice was made for speaking French.

“No…” John cleared his throat and shook away a few dangerous thoughts. “No I don’t believe I have.”

“The Exterminating Angel as he was called.” Sherlock eyed John trying understand why the man had suddenly looked so uncomfortable. “Jacques de Sores was his given name. He attacked and destroyed a small town called Havana in Cuba around 1555. It was said he laid waste to the entire town and its population then simply sailed away with the town’s gold, never to been seen or heard from again.” Watson had eased a bit, now distracted by the information Captain Holmes had just imparted on him.

“You’re out to find his lost treasure then?” John had to admit he was a bit disappointed. A pirate is a pirate. He thought to himself.

“Stop that!” The sheer strength of Sherlock’s voice startled John.

“Wh...sorry what?”

“Stop making ridiculous assumptions.” Sherlock waved his hand as if to wave away the subject entirely. “The question is why, John! Why had de Sores taken the gold and then sail away into oblivion? Why hadn’t he been seen or heard from after an event that had clearly made his name?” He steepled his fingers below his chin and hummed his way through a string of thoughts. John delighted in the sight; the moon was full and shone with brilliance, the light played beautifully across Sherlock’s face. John could kick himself for thinking so little of him. He looked on and let himself get lost in the expanse of limbs and sharp features that was Captain Sherlock Holmes. John was quite a ways down the rabbit hole when a thought had occurred to him.

“What if he regretted what he did?” Within an instant all those sharp angles and winding limbs had closed in on him. Sherlock had John pinned against the banister. John found himself without breath as those oceans of eyes narrowed at him. Why hadn’t he noticed before just how much Sherlock’s eyes portrayed the ocean? He felt the calm wash over him as he stared back into them. At the same time he had become hyperaware of the slight swaying of the ship; only because it caused their already very close body’s to ever so slightly brush one another.

“You’re absolutely brilliant John!” Sherlock’s whispering tone sent shivers down John’s spine.

“I…I am?”

“Ever so.” Sherlock broke away and disappointment and relief fought for dominance in Watson. “You may be on to something! While back in the Queen’s Land I came across a bit of information. At the time, de Sores had sailed under a man by the name of Francois le Clerc or rather Jambe de Bois. It has been speculated that it wasn’t de Sores who pillaged Havana but rather his captain de Bois.”

“Wait.” John shot a hand up to stop the assault of information. “If it was…was…” He looked to Sherlock for help.

“de Bois.”

“Yes, thank you. If it was de Bois who brought down Havana why would de Sores not only receive credit for such but also sail away with the gold?” John looked up and was instantly washed away for the second time by those brilliant ocean-eyes.

“Now you’re asking the right questions John.” Watson smiled and shook his head; he had sailed off with a madman. His smile however was soon taken over by a yawn that had been threatening him since they got under way. Sherlock not missing a beat hushed his voice. “Take my bed.”

“I’m sorry?” John forgot about the yawning and went straight for gaping like a fish.

“My bed. You need sleep, so take it.” Suddenly it had occurred to both of them that they hadn’t worked out sleeping arrangements.

“And where will you sleep?” John drew out his words.

“I won’t.” Holmes waved a hand to stop John’s protest before it started. “I hardly do.” Another protest ignored and stopped by a wave. Sherlock gave up trying to explain and with a huff pushed John across the quarter deck and through the cabin doors.

Watson would have stayed frozen just past the threshold if Sherlock hadn’t violently pushed pass him making some kind of noise that was half way between a scoff and a snort. It was a wonder John didn’t go into sensory overload.

The floor was cluttered with stacks of books, chests, more books, small statues, and just general knick-knacks. It was impossible for John to concentrate on just any one thing. All the walls were covered in maps and bits of paper and drawings secured to said walls with knives. Some knives even had curious things dangling from them, things that seemed to bend and throw light about the room. Of course the ceiling was much the same; strung with chimes and charms, John had even picked out a dream-catcher or two. When his eyes finally drifted over to the bed he found it to be just as extravagant as the rest of the room; large, four posted, and canopied. Even the bed itself was adorned with curiosities. Amidst the clutter, that was equally beautiful as the man who owned it was, there sat a large wooden desk. Despite the rest of the room the desk hand been fairly organized and in the center, sitting peacefully, was a skull. That was where John’s eyes stopped last.

“Friend of mine.” Sherlock had been following John’s line of sight the entire time, cataloging each feature that crossed his face.

“Friend?” Confusion and genuine interest; Sherlock liked that look. No one had ever taken as much interest in him as John had.

“I tend to think out loud. He’s my…sounding board, if you will.” Sherlock picked at a few knickknacks and tossed them about. Meanwhile John felt a lump form in his throat, and a realization came to him; Captain Sherlock Holmes was a lonely man. Silence stretched between them but when John looked up to find Sherlock’s eyes the pirate simply nodded and left him to settle in for the night. It didn’t take John long to wind down, the smooth swaying of the ship made all the hanging chimes and charms gently ring and Watson honestly couldn’t remember ever hearing anything so soothing. He would have thought it odd how comfortable he felt if he hadn’t instantly fallen into sleep.

>< >< >< >< >< ><

The moment a stack of books had toppled to the floor John was out of bed with his pistol at the ready. When his sleep dazed brain decided there was no threat he relaxed and watched as a mop of messy black curls bobbed around the room, hardly caring that a pistol had been trained on him just moments ago. John stretched and made quick work of pulling on his tunic shirt.

“What are you doing?” Though the slurred his words a bit, Watson had managed the question without too much trouble.

“Plotting.” Captain Holmes stabbed a dagger into the map with a little extra force than was needed; he seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Plotting the destruction of…”John sat on the edge of the bed and squinted at the map. “Is that Honduras?” Sherlock’s only response was a gentle hum. “And why exactly must Honduras go?”

“Honestly John.” Sherlock turned to flash a smile at John then promptly turned back to his project. “I’ve been mapping out de Bois and de Sores’ route before the invasion on Havana. Their last known location was Puerto Lempira, Honduras.”

“What were they doing in Puerto Lempira?” John ran a hand through his hair.

“My guess is raiding the town for gold. The mines were at their peak in that time.” Holmes snorted. “The French; always after Spanish gold. How dull.”

“So two towns had been massacred then?” Frustration began to settle into John’s voice.

“No. Just Havana.” Holmes whipped around and wove through the stacks of books and other curiosities. “Something…” He threw his hands up. “Something must have changed!” Sherlock was now all but pushing John back onto the bed by his shoulders. “Something must have happened between de Bois and de Sores on Puerto Lempira or before they reached Havana!”

“Aright, alright. Take it easy.” John had to detach the pirate’s iron grip from his shoulders; Sherlock all but ignored the man.

“Something changed! Something provoked that blood bath in Havana.” Holmes was now bordering on manic.

“And that something is?” John couldn’t help the smile; it was interesting to see his new companion in such a state.

“That ‘something’, John, may be in Puerto Lempira!” Before John could respond the captain’s voice boomed through the cabin. “Henry!” In a matter of seconds a head had popped through the door.

“Aye Captain?”

“We’ve our heading!” A brilliant, devilish grin made its way across Sherlock’s face. “Puerto Lempira, Honduras!”

“Aye Captain!” And with that the first mate’s head disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Ever been to Honduras John?” That brilliant smile nearly had John gasping for air when it flashed in his direction.

“Once, I believe.” Watson cleared his throat.

“Enjoy it?”

“Not in the least.” A smile had begun on John’s face.

“Wish to see it again?”

“Aye!” John shot out his hand and was promptly pulled to his feet. John Watson was not a man who looked forward to making port but something had told him that with Sherlock Holmes by his side things would definitely be interesting.

>< >< >< >< >< ><

It was high noon when a crewman called down from the crow’s nest. “Land Ho!” Within in seconds two other crewmen had a white flag raised up on the mast.

“You’re hardly like most pirates.” John noticed it when he first boarded and wondered why he hadn’t asked anything of it sooner.

“Dull.” Sherlock stood at the helm with his hands lightly resting on the spokes. John considered stretching the issue but was surprised to find that he really didn’t care too much. He found himself liking the mysterious aspect of the man more than he should have. Nodding, John just simply changed the subject.

“What are the plans then Captain?” Watson tipped his head to the side and looked just in time to catch the devious smile flash across Sherlock’s face.

“Find the oldest mine and its oldest miner.” Sherlock’s voice was thick with smugness; he knew exactly what he was doing.

When they made port John wasn’t too surprised to see Sherlock, using flawless Spanish, defuse the delicate situation of pirates docking on ‘civilized’ port; in fact John was certain the man may have just had pardoning papers for just about every country.

“Come John. We’ve a man to find.” Sherlock turned from the slightly dazed official and shot John an irritated look. Quick to respond John was off and keeping stride with Sherlock.

It didn’t take Sherlock long to find the place he was looking for and when he did John realized he didn’t have a clue as to what it was they were doing, exactly. Even more concerning to him was the fact that that was becoming normal.

“Sherlock?” It was all John had managed before they crossed over the threshold and into possibly the loudest pub John had ever been in, in his entire life. There was shouting and fighting and laughing, and it was all just a bit overwhelming. Sherlock however wove through the masses as if they weren’t even there; John struggled just to keep up, when they reached the bar he let out a breath he had been holding in.

“Estoy buscando un minero!” Sherlock’s voice boomed over the noise that filled the room and a least a few people in the immediate vicinity stopped what they were doing and watched in curiosity.

“Haga su selección, mi amigo! Están por todas partes!” The cheerful bartender’s voice was just as percussive.

“Este hombre es viejo. La más antigua de la ciudad.” The pirate moved closer to the edge of the bar when he saw the spark of understanding behind the bartender’s eyes.

“Él vive en las afueras de la ciudad, cerca de las ruinas.” The man nodded and turned away to his customers.

“Come on John!” Sherlock grabbed Watson’s sleeved and pulled him from the pub.

“Sher…..” Poor John nearly fell when they made it outside. “Sherlock! What the hell!” John was going to be angry but when he looked up he found Sherlock smiling. “What? What happened? What did he say?”

“We’ve found him!” He bobbed up and down on his feet like an excited child.

“We’ve found who exactly?”

“The only man left John! The only living soul who knows exactly what happened here all those years ago! The last living witness to the Havana bloodbath!” And with that Sherlock took off practically running, leaving John to snarl as he had to jog just to keep up.

>< >< >< >< >< ><

The house was old and the foliage around it had begun to claim it; life on land never appealed to John Watson but he had to admit that the place did look rather peaceful. Completely unfazed by the scene, Sherlock trudged up the pathway; wasting no time he banged on the door. When it swung open Sherlock froze.

“You’re French.” John tried to contain the laugh bubbling up at the surprise on Sherlock’s face.

“And you’re a pirate.” The old man looked weary and every year of his life marked his face in lines and wrinkles. The silence stretched between them before John had taken the initiative to break it.

“Sir, we’re here…” He was abruptly cut off.

“I know why you’re here.” Despite the apparent frailty of the old man, his voice was strong and commanding. “You seek Jacques de Sores’ lost gold. I’ve told my story to those who have sought me out but all have been disappointed in its ending for it doesn’t hold the answers you’re looking for.” With that he turned around and walked off; Sherlock and John took it as cue to follow him in.

“I’m looking for different answers.” Sherlock had since regained himself; a look of pure interest replaced the one of shock. The old man turned and silently examined Sherlock.

“Fair enough.” He nodded and led them into the all but bare kitchen and motion for them to sit down at the table. When he himself sank into a seat the spoke again. “Shall I start?” Sherlock only nodded; despite his excitement he managed to control himself.

“I was barely twenty.” The old man looked off past the two men as if he was looking back into his own memories. “I was just a boy when Captain Francois gave the order. All of us were so fiercely loyal to him and Jacques. We would’ve run head first into death if either had asked us. And in a way that was exactly what we did. We made port in Havana in 1555 and we destroyed everything.” He closed his eyes and shuddered.

“It was de Bois who gave the order.” Sherlock’s voice was low and gentle.

“Aye, he did.” The old man nodded.

“How had de Sores’ fame come about if it was de Bois who ordered the destruction of Havana?” John looked between them; he felt entirely lost.

“He killed our Captain.” The old man looked up and his eyes shone with the memories. Sherlock only hummed and relaxed into his chair. Of course the lousy git understood. John thought to himself. He’s probably worked everything out by now.

“Jacques de Sores was second in command to Captain Francois le Clerc. I imagine de Sores was to succeed le Clerc someday; le Clerc being much older. Clearly there was a loyalty between the two men.” Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table as he spoke. “However le Clerc’s crimes against Havana misplaced said trust de Sores had in him.” Sherlock steepled his fingers and held his hands just below his chin. “Why had le Clerc order the destruction of Havana?”

“It was for de Sores.” The old man was now looking straight at Sherlock. “When we were here in Lempira, Francois saw his death. We had claimed the town for King and country; it was a proud day for us French. That was until Francois woke the night after screaming and heaving. He confided in very few of us, myself and Jacques included. Francois became hysterical; he kept saying we would have our fame in France that we would return home heroes. We sailed for Havana the next day. Though Jacques pleaded against it Francois gave the order and Havana was soaked in its own blood.” The old man closed his eyes and rubbed a hand through is thin white hair. “It happened after we loaded the gold onto the ship and raised sail. The shot rang out and Francois fell dead. It was a mercy kill, he would have suffered greatly only to die just before returning home. The consumption would have claimed him and endangered the rest of the crew. And with that it all became too much for Jacques, he was burdened with the weight of what had happened to Havana and killing Francois broke the thread in his mind. Jacques set sail to make at least one thing right and when he did he gave the ship to the remaining men so that they may return home. Jacques and the gold, as you know, never saw French soil.

John had been hold in a breath and when he let it out he felt the weight in the air crash around him. He looked to Sherlock for something, though even he didn’t know what for.

“Where is it had de Sores gone after Havana?” Sherlock was on the edge of his seat and John could see the wheels turning, working through all the information they had just received. The only response Sherlock had gotten from the old man was the shake of his head.

“As I said, the story would not hold the answers you were looking for.” Sherlock growled and the old man shrunk back.

“I don’t want to the gold! I want to know what happened to Jacques de Sores!” Sherlock raised his voice and shot up from his seat.

“Sherlock!” John reached out and clamped down on the man’s arm, trying to pull him back down into the seat.

“You may hold a pistol to my head Captain but I’ve no answers for you.” The old man dropped his head, it was clear he had been through this before. “Kill me and you would be doing me a favor.” His strong voice had withered into weak whisper.

“Sherlock stop.” Now it was John’s voice that held strength and it pulled Sherlock from his mind. They exchanged looks and Sherlock huffed, but said nothing more. Nodding John turned back to the old man. “Thank you. We’ll take our leave now.” John pushed the reluctant pirate out of the house and tried to keep from punching the man once they were out the door. “What the hell Sherlock?!”

“He didn’t tell me what I wanted to know.” Sherlock didn’t raise his voice again but he let the pout drip from it.

“You said you wanted to know why de Sores was the one who gained fame from the massacre of Havana and man had told you. Or were you not listening?” John threw his hands up and pushed past Sherlock.

“I am to believe that a distinguished French Captain massacred an entire town….an entire Cuban town just so his lieutenant can carry on his….”Sherlock flailed his arms about.” His legend?!” Sherlock spit out every word as if they were poison on his tongue.

“Have you not heard of comradery?” John shook his head but kept his pace as he headed back towards town.

“Dull!” Sherlock called from somewhere behind him. John could have sworn he heard the man kicking stones like a pouting child.

“Honestly Sherlock…”John was cut off by a weight crashing into his back and spinning him around.

“John. If you were dying, if you had only a day to live what would you? Would you honestly do something drastic just so that some other man would gain from it?” Sherlock was bending down and staring right into John’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t massacre an entire town but yes, I would do something to make sure those closest to me were well off, if I could.” John rolled his eyes and fought back the flush that was threatening to burn across his face. Sherlock scowled and let go.

“Sentiment. Such a hateful thing.” Sherlock stamped off and he didn't speak again until they were back on the ship.

“Captain?” Henry had come scuffling towards them when he saw them board.

“Havana, Cuba Henry, set a course.” Sherlock huffed then made for his cabin, slamming the door behind him.

“What…what happened Sir?” Henry looked between John and the door.

“I suppose this little adventure of his wasn't exciting enough for him.” John grumbled and stalked off towards the cabin. He paused at the door then squared his shoulders and went in.

“Sherlock.” John gently shut the door and did his best to navigate through the clutter.

“You’re disappointed in me.” The Captain was sitting at his desk facing towards the window behind it.

“What are you hoping to find in Havana?”

“Answers John! Answers!” The shouting match had begun.

“You had your answers! It’s your own damn fault if you can’t take them as they are!” John raised his own voice.

“That’s just it John!” Sherlock stood swiftly and turned his piercing ocean-eyes on Watson, but John stood his ground. “I don’t have the answer. I still don’t know what happened to Jacques de Sores!”

“Why can’t you just let it be?!”

“Because that’s not who I am! I must know!”

“Dammit Sherlock you don’t have to know everything!” John threw his hands up and huffed.

“Yes. I do. If you don’t like it you can leave.” Sherlock’s voice had gone dangerously quiet and John froze. He watched as Sherlock turned from him and kept his hands busy with plucking his violin he had pulled from the surrounding clutter.

“ You've had this fight before, haven’t you?” John let his own voice go gentle.

“It’s who I am.” Sherlock sounded as if he was pleading. John sighed and sat down on the bed.

“Let’s ignore the events of Havana. What we know is that de Sores slipped into…” John searched for the right word. “A depression. He was clearly giving up, having given the ship to the men to return home. Also the old man had said that de Sores tried to set something right, but that could be anything.” John scrubbed his hands across in face and groaned. “Havana. What could we possibly find in Havana?”

“John.” Sherlock had rounded the desk and was now sitting on the corner of it.

“Yes I know we’re looking for where it was de Sores had taken off to.” John waved a hand in the man’s general direction.

“Thank you.” Suddenly neither of them seemed to care about Havana.

>< >< >< >< >< ><

Havana was nothing but a hollow shell of a town; it was nothing but rot and ruin. John shuddered at the thought of witnessing such a massacre, the streets run red and the buildings burning to the ground. He did his best to focus on the problem at hand.

“Where shall we start then?” John shook the images from his head and suppressed a second shiver.

“This way.” As always Sherlock bounded off leaving John to grumble and try his best to catch up. They followed along the outer edge of town past the farms and forest until they found themselves working their way up along a cliff. When the got close to the edge Sherlock dropped to his knees and ran a hand along the raised edge of a mound.

“What is it Sherlock?” John leaned over Sherlock and watched the man examine it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“A grave.”

“Francois le Clerc?”

“None other.” Sherlock rose so fast John had to take a step back though the step became more a stumble. “de Sores buried him.” John shook his head. “That must have been difficult."

“They had enough crew members to carry the body and I imagine that many men digging the hole as well left the task to be a rather easy one.”

“Sherlock that’s not…” John stopped. “Never mind.” Sherlock looked down at John but put it out of is mind.

“Francois le Clerc was buried and Jacques de Sores sailed away with his ship and gold.” Sherlock took a few steps forward and looked out across the ocean that stretched out past the horizon. “He turned tail and sailed off to die somewhere. He wouldn't return home so where would he have gone?” John watched as Sherlock returned to what seemed to be his default pose; steepled fingers just barely brushing against his lips. “Where would you go John?”

“The last place I was happy I suppose.” John shrugged but started when Sherlock whipped around and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“You’re brilliant!” The man shook him and let go just as fast as he had latched on.

“Right, good. What?” John watched as Sherlock practically did circles around him.

“He wanted to set something right! He wouldn't return home! He had an entire ship full of gold! Don’t you see John? There is only one place he could have gone!”

“Alright, alright calm down. What’s going on?” John put his hands up hoping the very motion of it would ease the oncoming feeling of confusion.

“Come on, we've to return to the ship immediately!” Sherlock too off, John grumbled. They were quickly developing a routine.

>< >< >< >< >< ><

“I cannot believe this!” John was thoroughly flustered and continued to complain. “We just spent two days going back and forth between two countries. This is absolutely ridiculous!”

“Calm down John.” Sherlock’s eye roll was practically audible.

“Ridiculous!” John kept up his huffing only to be cut short when he almost walked right into Sherlock. “What the…”

“We’re here.” Sherlock didn't seem to notice the almost-collision. John looked up and saw the familiar sight of a small stone home slowly being reclaimed by nature. He wondered if the old man would welcome the deranged pirate in a second time. Sherlock made his way up the path and knocked on the door, when there wasn't an answer he pounded louder, leaving it to be John’s turn to roll his eyes. “Something is wrong.” Before John could respond Sherlock had all but knocked the door down.

Sherlock breezed through the house but quickly stopped the minute he reached the doorway into the bare kitchen. When John caught up he threw a hand across his mouth to keep the string of curses from pouring out. In the center on the floor lay the old man with a pool of red that had blossomed out around him.

“We’ve to bury him Sherlock.” John’s voice wavered only a bit.

Sherlock stepped around the scene and made his way through the door that led to the back side of the house. John gladly followed. When they made it out the door they found a grave similar to the one back in Havana.

“Jacques de Sores.” Sherlock acknowledged it then began searching for shovel. When he found one he passed it to John and signaled for him to start digging next to de Sores’ grave. When John broke ground Sherlock returned the house. It was just an hour before Sherlock had reappeared asking for help.

It hadn't taken them long to carry the old man out and place him in the grave. When John had replaced the dirt and arranged a few rocks around the edges of the grave they both stepped back just simply stood there for a few minutes.

“We hadn't asked for his name.” John was the first to speak.

“Do not feel guilty John. It would be pointless.” Sherlock waved a hand and John rolled his eyes.

“Now what are we do? He was the last one to know the truth.” John shuffled between his feet.

“Find the gold.” Sherlock turned to face him. “If we find it, it would prove de Sores returned to Puerto Lempira.”

“He could’ve hidden it anywhere.” John looked around hoping to find any sign of a hidden treasure despite the hopelessness of it. Sherlock followed his line of sight but stopped when he noticed cellar doors just beneath a bit of brush. Without hesitation he busted through door and all but dove head first into the darkness, leaving John to once again follow. John nearly tripped over Sherlock who was kneeling clearly shuffling about with something.

“What the hell are you doing?” As the words came out of John’s mouth a torch had lit up and threw light around their surroundings.

“A bit of gunpowder and spark goes a long way.” Sherlock’s grin looked even more devious beneath the fire light.

They followed the winding hallway until it came to an opening. Instantly everything began to glow and both men had to pick their jaws up from the ground.

>< >< >< >< >< ><

“We’ve loaded the last of it into the haul Captain.” Henry shuffled around the clutter.

“Split it amongst the crew Henry.” Sherlock waved a hand and Henry was quick to exit the cabin.

“You really aren’t like most pirates.” John picked up a small statue and turned it about in his hands. He really couldn’t get over the vast amount of curiosities that just laid about the room.

“That should be a good thing.” Sherlock smiled brilliantly and plucked at his violin.

“So de Sores having put his captain, de Bois, out of his misery after the man ordered the destruction of an entire town, sailed back to Puerto Lempira with all the gold. He handed the ship over to the remaining crew to return home and what then.....lived out his life with some underling who couldn’t abandon him?” John put the small statue back down from where he had picked it up from.

“The old man was the one who had killed de Sores, just as de Sores had done for de Bois. Never touching the gold he lived out his life quietly on the outskirts of town.” Sherlock had stopped his plucking and was now looking out the window.

“Satisfied with the answer you got?”

“Not in the least John.” Sherlock turned around to face John who had only chuckled.

“Where is our next adventure too then Captain Holmes?” John walked upto and leaned against the desk crossing his ankles.

“Tortuga Captain Watson. Tortuga!” Sherlock flicked his violin bow about.

Deux Cent Vingt Et Un had its heading, raised it sails, and set off towards Tortuga and towards Captain Sherlock Holmes and John Watson’s next adventure.


End file.
